


Sing Only the Words

by AlphaLimaMike



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Lyrium Withdrawal, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-30 14:21:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3940063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlphaLimaMike/pseuds/AlphaLimaMike
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A look at how the relationship between Cullen Rutherford and Mage Trevelyan develops.  Mild deviations from canon, nothing major.  Expect tags to change as the story goes on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Leave Me

**Author's Note:**

> My personal head-canon for Inquisitor Maegwin Trevelyan and Cullen Rutherford. Updates will probably be sporadic at best, so keep checking back.

Maegwin was surprised to see Cullen in the gardens this late at night: most of Skyhold had been asleep for some time, and dawn was still hours away. He sat on one of the scattered stone benches, facing away from her, and she only knew it was the former Templar by his blond hair and distinctive fur cloak. As she drew closer, she realized that something was wrong. Cullen was bent over, shaking hands in fists at his temples, breath pluming white in the frigid air as he murmured to himself.

"...Touch me with fire that I be cleansed, Tell me I have sung to Your approval. Oh Maker hear my cry: Seat me by Your side in death, Make me one within Your glory, And let the world once more see Your favor, For You are the fire at the heart of the world, And comfort is only Yours to give." A stifled groan escaped his lips, and then he unsteadily began the verse from the Canticle of Transfigurations again. "Oh Maker hear my cry: Guide me through the blackest nights, Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked, Make me rest in the warmest places. Oh Creator see me kneel: For I walk only where You would bid me, Stand only in places You have blessed, Sing only the words You place in my throat. My Maker know my heart, Take from me a life of sorrow, Lift me from a world of pain..."

Maegwin drew closer, walked around to face him, unable to bear watching her trusted advisor struggling without at least trying to help. "Cullen, are you all right?"

When he looked up at her, his face in the moonlight was bone white. "Yes," he forced out, and then doubled over, gasping. "No."

"What's wrong?" she asked gently, trying to keep the fear out of her voice as she kneeled. "Do you need a healer?"

"No healer. Tell no one," he ground out between clenched teeth. " _Leave me_."

Maegwin was nothing if not dutiful, but this was one order she could not follow. Leave him in the cold and the dark, with nothing but pain and whispered prayers? "Never." She didn't realize she'd said it aloud until she saw her breath fog the air. "Are you cold?"

It wasn't until she had begun to shrug off her cloak to give to him that he responded weakly, "My hands..."

"Give them to me," she commanded, and was surprised when he obeyed. She stripped off her gloves and his, clutched his icy fingers with her own warm ones, ashamed at the thrill of excitement she felt. Had she not often imagined what this would be like? Did she not feel a flutter in her stomach whenever she tried to picture his big, callused soldier's hands engulfing her own? The reality was far less pretty than her silly fantasies, but the uncomfortable warmth creeping into her cheeks could not be halted, even though she was consumed with anxiety and fear.

The tremor in his hands, which had momentarily stilled, now returned, and he clutched at her so tightly that she nearly cried out.

"Maker my enemies are abundant," he panted. "Many are those who rise up against me. But my faith sustains me; I shall not fear the legion, Should they set themselves against me."

Maegwin had heard him recite this same prayer before, during the siege at Haven. When she had faced Corypheus, as he had held her aloft in one clawed hand like a child's doll, she had felt the words on her lips like honeyed wine. Afterward, as she lay sick and weak in the Inquisition's camp, certain she was dreaming, that she must still be staring into his dead eyes, still wandering cold and alone through the mountains, that Cullen's voice shouting, _I've found her!_ was just a near-death hallucination, she had been unable to stop the chant pouring out. Cullen had sat at her side, repeating the Canticle of Trials with her until she had finally fallen asleep. She had assumed she had dreamed the entire thing: a Templar - even a former Templar - taking the time to comfort a Circle mage? It was absurd. She knew enough about his history to know that he had every reason to distrust mages, distrust her. It wasn't until a full month later, when Mother Giselle had made casual mention of it - _seeing the two of you brought together by a shared faith in the Maker renewed my hope for a peaceful resolution to the mage rebellion_ \- that she realized it had actually happened. Now she repeated the words with him, her heartbeat in her ears all but drowning out the susurration of their quiet voices.

"Maker though the darkness comes upon me, I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm. I shall endure. What You have created no one can tear asunder. Though all before me is shadow, Yet shall the Maker be my guide. I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond. For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light, And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost." They repeated the chant three times as his tremors eased, as did his grip on her hands, and finally his head dropped down to rest on hers, and there was nothing but stilllness. For an endless stretch of time, they stayed like that: Maegwin frozen in place like a startled hare, too afraid to move, and Cullen too wrung out. She listened to his breathing grow even, quietly thankful that whatever had held him in its clutches had finally let go.

"Are you feeling well enough to walk, Cullen? I would see you to bed." Her face grew hot. "Oh, that sounded terrible. You know what I meant."

His laugh was little more than a tired exhalation. "Are you going to magic me up the ladder, Inquisitor?"

"I could!" Hearing him joke, however weakly, made her smile. "But will you be able to get back down once I'm gone, Commander?"

"Not like this," he admitted at last.

She was already flushed and flustered, and what she was about to say would only make it worse, but she took the leap anyway: what other option was there? "Then you may rest in my room." Before Cullen could say anything, she hastened to add, "There is a couch if you prefer that to the bed, but I won't be sleeping: I haven't finished packing to leave for Crestwood at first light."

"That is... it's a-an awful idea. But I am so tired."

"You _sound_ exhausted. Come on." Maegwin stood carefully, and when she pulled him up, he wavered on his feet until she held him steady with his arm over her shoulders. "All right?"

His response was hoarse, hardly more than a barely audible rumble. "Not yet."

She had to resist the urge to stand on tiptoe and kiss his forehead. "Take your time, Cullen."

"I - I can't... Talk to me. Please, I..."

Dear Maker, what could she possibly talk about? The best technique for casting a defensive barrier? What did a Templar and a Circle mage talk about, after all? She tried to remember what they'd discussed over chess, but it was all a nervous blur. What did they have in common besides the Inquisition?

"The Iron Bull," she began uncertainly, and Cullen's weak chuff of laughter bolstered her confidence. "I think I mentioned Bull asked me to include him on a dragon hunting expedition? I wasn't planning on bringing him to Crestwood, because the dragon wasn't a priority, but he got his hands on the scout reports and that was it. Blackwall won't tell me what was said or how much money traded hands, but Bull is now coming with me in the morning." As she spoke, prattling on about the Iron Bull's fascination with dragons, she allowed Cullen to set the pace as they made their painstaking way across the garden and through the deserted throne room. The stairs to her chambers may as well have gone on forever, and by the time they reached the top, even Maegwin was thinking _I can't_.

"Not the bed, not the bed, the couch. _Maegwin_..." Cullen sounded as though he were fighting being sick all over the rug, and indeed, when she eased him onto the couch, he looked distinctly green. She ran for the pail that the servants kept in the storage room nearby, brought it back to him.

"Are you going to be ill?"

He closed his eyes and said faintly, "Maker, I hope not."

"Here, just in case," she told him, bending to place the bucket at his feet. "Let me take off your boots and armor, and you can lie down."

"No, you've done enough."

Looking up, she shook her head, even though he couldn't see it. "Cullen, when a woman does these kinds of things without being asked, it is a rare and precious gift."

The scarred side of his mouth quirked up in a tiny, crooked smile that, despite the circumstances, made Maegwin's heart leap. Neither of them spoke while she tugged at laces, leather straps and metal buckles, removing his boots, greaves and cloak before moving up to the pauldrons and breastplate.

"Like a child," he muttered when she was through. Sitting there limply in just breeches and a thin doublet, Maegwin had to admit that he did not look at all like the imposing figure he normally presented.

"No," she told him simply, laying the armor, cloak and leather doublet and breechs neatly on the bed nearby. It wasn't until she had gotten Cullen settled in with a pillow and blanket that she teased him by saying, "Like a lobster." Through the pallor, a blush crept over his face, and she laughed quietly to herself.

"I suppose I owe you an explanation," he sighed, gazing blearily at her. "You deserve the truth."

Though she did dearly want answers, this was not the time. "It can wait until I return. You need to rest."

"Maegwin, I have stopped taking lyrium." His words were quiet, but all the same, they sounded like a thunderclap. The silence afterward was profound, full of expectation. "You know that lyrium is what grants Templars our power, but it's used to control us, as well. After Kirkwall, I couldn't... I will not be bound to the Order, or that life, any longer. Whatever the suffering, I accept it. I have asked Cassandra to... watch over me. I will not allow the Inquisition to suffer because of me. If I am no longer able to fulfill my duties, Seeker Pentaghast is to relieve me and name a new commander." As he talked, she could hear the sleep creeping into his voice. Just a few questions, she promised herself, and she would let him rest.

"Is it always this bad?"

"The pain comes and goes, though normally it is not as bad as tonight. My hands get cold, sometimes they shake. I often get anxious and paranoid, start to think I'm back in the Circle Tower..." He shook his head minutely. "I... have nightmares: without lyrium, it's easier to remember all the things I'd rather forget. And yet, it's harder to think. The fatigue, I suppose."

"Cullen, if this could kill you-- "

"It hasn't yet."

"And you're willing to risk it? Quitting means that much to you?"

"It does."

"Then I respect your decision. Thank you for telling me. How-how long have you been..?"

"Several months. Since I joined the Inquisition."

Several months. Several months in which Maegwin had teased him about the dark circles under his eyes, needled him about working too hard, and begun serving tea to her advisors during the morning war councils because Cullen, at least, always seemed to need it. Several months in which he had run her through drills with a sword several times a week, only asking Blackwall, Cassandra, or the Iron Bull to take over when she went out on missions. Several months in which he had been privately dealing with - _My Maker, know my heart, Take from me a life of sorrow, Lift me from a world of pain_ \- a monstrous addiction.

"All those times I teased you! I hit you with _swords_!" she exclaimed, horrified. "I'm so sorry, I - "

"No," he said muzzily, already half asleep. "I-I appreciate your levity." "

Well, it's nice to know that someone besides _Dorian_ does."

"Will you please inform Cassandra of my... that I..."

"I will tell her that you are indisposed. Sleep well, Cullen. Feel better."

The crooked smile returned for just a moment. It was enough.


	2. The Maker Doesn't Hear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cole means well, but can't keep a secret: he tells the the entire Crestwood party exactly what was going through Cullen's mind the night before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My most sincere thanks to everyone who left kudos on Chapter One!

Packing did not take long, it never did, but Maegwin found it exceedingly difficult to don her leather battlemage armor quietly, in a closet, in the dark. That ate up a good portion of her time. She wanted to leave a note for Cullen, as well, and though she tried to take her time and think carefully about what she wanted to say, she still needed to talk to Cassandra, and also make sure the wagon was ready for the journey.

She scanned what she had written and added a hasty post script.

 

> _Cullen,_
> 
> _I did not wish to wake you to say goodbye. You are currently snoring (I never knew that lobsters could snore!), and I think you get little enough sleep as it is, so I will leave this note instead._
> 
> _Perhaps you recall I talked about hunting a dragon. You have my reassurance that I will certainly not go looking for the Crestwood dragon, but all the same, I suspect it will find us. Bull thinks the skull would make a "fucking amazing throne," and I have to admit that it certainly sounds impressive, the way he describes it. Leliana and Josephine seem taken with the idea as well. Be honest - would a dragon head throne be too much, do you think?_
> 
> _This is silly preamble, and I think we both know it. What I truly want to tell you is serious, and I hope you will heed my words: please take care of yourself. While I understand that there is very little I can do to help you, when you are struggling, I do not wish you to go through it alone in the cold, dark garden. Or the cold, dark anywhere, really. Especially alone. Don't be too proud to ask for help if you need it. My door is always open to you._
> 
> _Maegwin_
> 
> _Post script: I have left instructions with my servants to stay out of my rooms until you give them permission to enter, so please do not forget to do that, or when I return, I will hide your chess set and give your fur cape to Sera._

Too silly? Too serious? Too late now. She folded the parchment and laid it on top of his armor, where he could not miss it. Her pack lay nearby, and she swung it over one shoulder, heading for the door, moving as swiftly and silently as possible through the firelit room and past Cullen's sleeping form. Maegwin felt a pang of regret at having to leave. It would be so nice to be here when he woke...

 

 

 

Cassandra's rooms were not far, which was a relief, because time was swiftly running out. The seeker answered Maegwin's knocking in her nightgown and dressing robe.

"Inquisitor Trevelyan," she said after a beat. "Is there an emergency? Come inside."

Maegwin followed her in, glad to be out of the cold once more. "It's Cullen. I found him in the garden--"

"Is he still there?" The question was sharp, urgent. Cassandra stood a little straighter, the fires of duty and purprose lighting inside her.

"No, of course not. I-I, um, took him back to my room. He was too ill to make it to his, and he asked me to inform you."

"I see." A pause. "It was very bad, then?"

Maegwin wasn't sure how to answer: her mind flashed briefly upon Cullen's white-knuckled grip, her voice mingled with his in desperate prayer. "He... was in a lot of pain," she said simply.

"And the worst of it has passed?"

"Sweet Andraste, Cassandra! Do you really think I would leave him if it hadn't?"

"It is not a judgement of your character," she was quick to explain. "I am merely asking if you are certain he is safe."

Maegwin pressed her fingers against her brow and reminded herself that though the questions were irritating, it was the seeker's duty to ask them. "Yes, I am certain."

"You are frightened." This was not a question, but a simple statement of fact.

"He is risking his life. I should stay. If he dies or goes mad while I'm in the field--"

Cassandra regarded her with a pained expression. "Your concern for your people is admirable, but such action is unnecessary. Cullen has been dealing with this for all the time you have known him, and nothing has happened yet."

Maegwin's smile was mirthless. "He said much the same. But for all the time I have known him, Cassandra, I have suspected something was amiss. I hadn't an inkling it was something as dire as this. Now, you know I'm hardly one to throw my weight around, but as Inquisitor, _why_ was I not informed before now?"

"I am sorry. That was Cullen's doing. He did not wish to risk your... disapproval."

"My _disapproval_? This is his personal decision, my feelings on the matter should not factor in at all."

The seeker wrung her hands. "He thinks very highly of you, Inquisitor. Though I think this is for the best. You are in a position to better gauge his condition than I. Perhaps he will listen if _you_ ask him to be easier on himself. He has never shared his suffering with _me_ , after all."

"He didn't _share_ anything, I stumbled upon him in the garden."

"Indeed? He allowed you to take him to your room, did he not?"

Maegwin left unsaid that he had allowed her to take off his armor. "Perhaps you have a point."

Cassandra's gaze flicked to Maegwin's staff and pack, the spirit blade hilt on her belt. "I will not keep you longer. You must be about to leave."

When the door had shut behind her, Maegwin took off running. There was still time to check the wagon if she hurried.

 

 

 

Bull, Dorian, and Cole were not what she considered excellent traveling companions. She liked them all, and as a team, they worked well together, but all the same, one was too crass, one too sarcastic, and one given to plucking the thoughts from your head and announcing them to all present. Riding in a wagon with them from sunup to sundown for days on end was comparable to a Harrowing. Having Blackwall along instead of the Iron Bull would have made it only slightly more bearable: there would have been more room to stretch out, at least. As it was, Maegwin sat crammed in the corner while everyone, including her, tried to catch up on sleep. Perhaps two hours into the journey, Dorian gave up and pulled out a deck of cards.

"Anyone up for some Wicked Grace?"

"Varric taught me that game," Cole announced brightly. "Let's play."

"I'm in," Maegwin said. "Though I'm not very good at it."

"This is going to be a slaughter," Bull remarked, amused. "Deal me in, mage-boy. I want to see if I can get you out of that skirt."

Maegwin ended up fumbling with her cards until she took off her gloves. Out of the mountains, it wasn't nearly as cold, and frostbite was not an immediate concern. She was horrified to find that Cullen's tight grip had left bruises on her hands.

Bull noticed first. "What happened there, Boss?"

"Nothing. Whose turn is it?"

"Yours. Those are finger marks," he said without missing a beat. "Someone hurt you? You need me to crack skulls when we get back?"

"No, it's nothing like that." She cast about desperately for a lie and came up blank: the heavily edited truth would have to do. "I couldn't sleep - I never can, the night before an expedition - so I headed for the infirmary to see if I could help out a bit. Last night, there was a soldier who - "

"Pain like hot shards inside, piercing, searing," Cole piped up, rocking back and forth as he concentrated. "Panic as the sky presses down. Cold, aching hands; shaking, makes everything hurt worse but it won't _stop_. Whispered words: Maker, hear my cry. The Maker doesn't hear, but _she_ does."

Maegwin felt a wave of shock wash over her, followed swiftly by disappointment. _The Maker doesn't hear, but she does._ Had Cullen truly thought that? It was blasphemous, it was wrong, it was... lovely. And if she had known, she would have stayed.

There was a moment of surprised silence, broken when Dorian commented in a simpering voice, "So sweet I may just end up with the sugar sickness."

She swatted him on the arm with her gloves. "Not funny. He was in _so_ much pain."

Bull shrugged indifferently. "The offer still stands, you know."

"She _helped_ ," Cole told them firmly. "He knows that she can't save him, he has to do that himself. But she gave him a... a rare and precious gift."

"No, stop," Maegwin advised sharply, sensing grand embarrassment in her immediate future. For the words she'd said in playful flirtation to come up now could only mean one thing.

Sure enough: "Hands warm, soft, soothing and safe: an anchor, _his_ anchor. Fuzzy and faint; agony replaced by a different ache as she takes away his armor, wishing he had the strength to sit up and press his lips against her freckles."

"Oh, Maker's breath," she laughed helplessly into her cards. Was this actually happening? Surely she would wake to find she had been dreaming, surely Cole had not just told Bull and Dorian, the two most lewd people she knew, that Cullen wanted to kiss her. Surely not. Because if it had actually just happened, then his by-proxy confession could change everything.

"Upon our return to Skyhold, I must have a stern talk with this gentleman, don't you think?" Dorian asked sharply. "No one gets to corrupt my innocent chantry girl but _me_."


	3. Ridiculous and Breathtaking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crestwood is an awful place, but Maegwin has a spot of fun at Cullen's expense upon her return to Skyhold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stuttery, awkward Cullen is best Cullen! I had entirely too much fun with the exchange between him and Maegwin in this chapter.

When they finally arrived at the forward camp in Crestwood four days later, it had been raining for hours and showed no signs of letting up. Usually when Maegwin was in the field with Cole and Bull together, she would assign them the same tent: Cole never slept and liked to wander about keeping watch with the scouts, and Bull was so big that he needed the entire tent to himself anyway. Whoever else was in the party stayed in the other tent with Maegwin, and it normally worked out well. Normally. With the rain, though, Cole elected to stay in Maegwin and Dorian's tent. Dorian was less than pleased.

"If I wake during the night and find him staring at me with those bug eyes of his, I'll scream like a woman," he cautioned dramatically.

From the other tent, Iron Bull commented in typical lewd fashion, "Give me enough time and I could make you scream like a woman, too."

"Dorian, put your bedroll there," Maegwin replied, ignoring Bull and pointing to the right side of the tent. "Cole, your things go there." She pointed to the left side. "And I will stay in the middle to separate the two of you." She tossed her pack on the floor and began to take off her armor. "Congratulations, Dorian, you have made me feel like your mother. Are you happy now?"

"Very. My mother never had such a nice behind."

Maegwin froze with her long jacket hanging off one shoulder, asking herself what in the world she had been thinking when she chose Dorian _fucking_ Pavus for this mission. "She never planted her boot up your arsehole, either. There's another way she and I differ."

Bull's bellowing laughter rang out, and Dorian clapped his hands with a flourish, remarking delightedly, "You see? Before you met me, you would never have said such a thing. I'm a _terrible_ influence. I love it."

"You and Bull are the absolute worst," Maegwin agreed, stripping down to her thin doublet and breeches and burying herself in her bedroll. "Now shut up so I can sleep, or I swear I will beat the both of you with my staff."

"Use the skinny end, not the knobby end: it will hurt more," the Iron Bull replied seriously.

"Anything for you, Bull," she replied, already half asleep.

"You're the best, Boss."

It seemed like no time at all before she found herself dreaming. Usually her dreams were sad: sometimes she would find herself back among her friends in the Ostwyk Circle, and though she knew immediately that it was just a dream, she would remain there for as long as she could before waking, drinking in the familiar sights of home and friends she might never see again. Other times, she would dream that she was back with the mages, marching for the Conclave, and the sight of Temple of Sacred Ashes looming on the mountain before them filled her with dread. No one else seemed to realize that they were all walking to their deaths, and no matter how many times Maegwin tried to warn them, no one would listen.

This dream wasn't maudlin, but a nightmare, terrible in its unrelenting brutality. She was back in Redcliffe Castle, but this time even Dorian was gone. She was alone, searching for anything that could tell her what had happened, but instead of answers, she found her new friends dead. Every cell she unlocked yielded another body tainted with red lyrium; even Josephine had been corrupted. There was one last cell, this one barred by a heavy wooden door, and Maegwin knew that it was Cullen in there, but she was afraid to look because she could hear something moving on the other side, and it wasn't _him_. The footsteps were heavy and uneven, and she could hear something dragging. In her mind, she saw him, twisted into a red lyrium horror. Was she just going to _leave_ him like that? If there was anything left of him in there, didn't she owe it to him to... _To what?_ she asked herself cruelly. _Kill him?_ Her hands clenched into fists. _Yes. Before he loses himself entirely. And if he's already gone, all the more reason..._ Her hand went to her belt, searching for her spirit blade, but it was gone. The familiar weight of her staff at her back was also absent. _That's okay. The staff is just a focus. I can cast spells without them. I must do this, I must._ Her hands shook as she unlocked the door, and she got a glimpse of bloodshot golden eyes, a shock of blonde hair, and--

Cole shook her. "Wake up, Maegwin. You will not dream of that: helpless and hopeless, dark and dirty. Remember, it never _happened_."

"What if he was there? What if we just didn't _find_ him?" she asked in a whisper, still totally disoriented.

"It was only a dream."

"But what if he was _there_?" The last word was nothing more than a squeaky, choked off sob.

Cole cocked his head to the side, considering her question, considering the best way to help assuage her fear. "If he was, then he isn't anymore. You and Dorian changed that future. Why do you worry about a thing that hasn't happened?"

Next to her, Dorian stirred at the sound of his name. "Do I want to know why you two are talking about me?" he asked sleepily.

Maegwin wiped her eyes and offered more calmly, "I was having a sexy dream about you, and Cole woke me up. Said it was _inappropriate_."

"I'm sure I would cry too, if he woke me from a naughty dream of you. So I will forgive you for disturbing me. _This_ time."

"Why do you lie?" Cole asked mildly. "He dreams of Redcliffe, too, sometimes."

" _Thank you, Cole_ ," Dorian said in a tone that made it obvious the conversation was over, and promptly turned his back to them. Cole stared curiously at him for a few moments, then laid back down and closed his eyes, even though Maegwin knew he wouldn't sleep.

Feeling awkward at having caused a minor stir, she turned her back to Dorian and lay there trying to relax, to shake off the last vestiges of the nightmare. It wasn't working. Where had Cullen been in that future? Everyone in that forsaken castle had been damaged by the red lyrium, surely if he were there, he would have been, as well. And why did this suddenly bother her so very much? _Maegwin, I have stopped taking lyrium. I will not be bound... to that life any longer. Whatever the suffering, I accept it._ If he thought that there was no hope, no reason to fight, would he take the red lyrium if offered, even knowing what it would do? She knew him well enough to think that he wouldn't, but the fear was unrelenting. He might, he could...

Behind her, Dorian shifted about a bit, and she jumped when the weight of his back against hers bumped her unexpectedly and didn't move away. _He dreams of Redcliffe, too._ Somehow, it was a comfort.

"I helped," Cole said happily.

 

 

 

For nearly the entire three weeks they were in Crestwood, it rained. There were several times lightning struck nearby and they all felt the ground buzzing beneath them, times when Maegwin did not feel bad for screaming because even the Iron Bull let out a shout.

It was hard to keep morale high when faced with such awful weather. Harder still when Maegwin continued having nightmares. Cole would always wake her, insisting in his roundabout way that she should know better. Never mind that knowing better never stopped the dreams, never changed anything about them in the slightest.

To say that everyone was discouraged was a gross understatement.

Trying to access the underground caves to close the rift under the lake proved to be almost more trouble than it was worth, and Maegwin's opinion on the whole thing was further solidified once the dam had been opened and the lake drained. The smell of tidal muck and decomposed bodies was choking, even more so when the rain stopped and the sun came out while they were underground. They walked out of the cave and into a humid, stinking mire. Everyone gagged on the stench but Cole, and when Dorian bent over to vomit, Maegwin pretended to hold his mustache out of the way, hoping to lighten the serious mood.

But the rifts were sealed, finally, and the dragon slayed. The monster's head was massive, and rather than wait upwards of a week to have another wagon summoned from Skyhold, the four of them instead opted to load the ghastly trophy into their own wagon and walk alongside it, exhausted, muddy, and giddy from their hard-earned victory.

When they finally arrived at the outer gates of Skyhold, the guards had apparently sent word to Josephine, Leliana, and Cullen, for they were already waiting when the jubilant party arrived.

Josephine ran to them, caught between disgust at the gore and astonishment at the sheer size of the beast. "Inquisitor! You did it!"

" _We_ did it," she replied, glancing to her ragged companions.

"Well done. It will be a formidable sight in the throne room," Leilana agreed, following on Josephine's heels. "I will send some people out shortly to begin preparing it."

Cullen stood back, away from the excitement, shaking his head in disbelief. When Maegwin caught his gaze, he smiled crookedly and flushed red.

"Drinks are on me!" Bull roared. "See you at the tavern! And remember to bathe first, you stinking animals! I'll be damned if I get kicked out before I'm shitfaced!"

Dorian, Cole, Bull, Josephine and Leliana all started heading for the inner gates, but Maegwin and Cullen hung back.

"You are well?" she asked quietly.

"Yes, thank you." He clasped his hands behind his back. "Maker's breath, you smell terrible."

"That is the smell of _triumph_ ," she declared proudly. "It rained the whole time, and we had to drain the lake. Ugh, the _smell_ , Cullen. Have you ever had the extreme misfortune to smell low tide _and_ dead bodies?"

"Not together."

"Well thank the Maker, because it is _terrible_. The only thing that kept the group in good spirits was the incessant heckling. I was the butt of most of their jokes."

"Do I want to know?"

She was exhausted and disgustingly stinky, but it deterred her not at all. The smile that touched her lips was knowing, fearless and confident. "Cole told us all that someone at Skyhold would like to kiss my freckles. It became quite the talking point during our travel."

"Ah, that's--"

"I must find this gentleman, don't you think?" she pressed, and was amused to discover that Cullen could turn an even deeper shade of crimson.

"Find him?"

"Oh yes, but not today. As Varric would say, I stink so much I could knock a buzzard off a shit wagon," she replied primly. "But I think that once I have had a bath, a few drinks, and some sleep, I will track down this mysterious man and collect on those freckle kisses."

He stopped in his tracks, looking as though someone had struck him, and she laughed merrily, "Anyway, enough about that, Commander. You never told me what you thought of a dragon skull throne."

"The throne," he repeated lamely, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Yes. The throne. I asked you about it in my letter. Don't tell me you didn't see my letter."

He laughed a little under his breath, and she heard him mutter, "Maker's breath..." as he started walking again. "I saw your letter. My cloak and chess set are safe."

"You never answered!" she exclaimed, exasperated. "I got your reports in a timely enough manner, but no response to my question. Is that my payback for calling you a lobster?" As they entered the bustling courtyard, she laughingly prompted him with, "Well, Ser Lobster?"

Cullen, finding some deep reserve of bravado, waited until they were about to part ways to tell her, "I think it will be ridiculous and breathtaking. Just like you."


	4. Dreadfully Common

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull and Maegwin bond over shitty liquor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I'm shoehorning Dorian into the "gay best friend" trope, and that is not my intention AT ALL. He just happens to be the friend Maegwin shit-talks with and they make fun of each other in a gloriously sarcastic and sometimes inappropriate way. They're like long-lost twins or something. They ARE related, after all.

After a long soak and a very thorough scrubbing, Maegwin went to the tavern.  Dorian was nowhere to be found, which she thought was odd, but Bull was getting very happily drunk in the corner all by himself and didn't seem bothered in the least.

"Inquisitor!" he greeted her.  "Come, have a drink."  He was already pouring something into a tankard for her.  "To killing a high dragon like warriors of legend!"

She knew better than to take a moment to appreciate the bouquet of whatever awful liquor was in the cup - fine wine this definitely was not - but the smell of it still made her wrinkle her nose.  It was no wonder Dorian had made himself scarce.  "What exactly am I supposed to be drinking?"

"Maraas-lok."

"What does that mean?"

"It means  _drink_!" Bull bellowed, laughing uproariously.

So she did, and was not prepared for how much it  _burned_ on the way down.  Choking, she looked up at Bull with unconcealed horror.

"I know, right?" he commented offhandedly.  "Put some chest on your chest."

Maegwin didn't think she really needed any more chest on her chest, but Bull certainly didn't need to know that.

He stared down into his tankard and said almost longingly, "That little gurgle right before it spat fire?  And that  _roar_.  What I wouldn't give to roar like that.  The way the ground  _shook_ when it landed.  The smell of the fires burning..."  He sighed.  "Taarsidath-an halsaam."

Maegwin was a bit distracted by the sensation of the burning in her stomach slowly being replaced by a spreading warmth.  What in the Void was she drinking, anyway?  Knowing Bull, it was probably something horrendous.

"You know Qunari hold dragons sacred?  Well, as much as we hold anything sacred," he continued, pouring more of the vile stuff into her cup.  "Here, your turn."

To buy herself time, she asked, "That thing you just said: you shouted it during the fight, too.  What does it mean?"

"Oh, taarsidath-an halsaam?" he responded casually.  "Closest translation would be,  _'I will bring myself sexual pleasure later, while thinking about this with great respect.'_ "

"You shouted  _that_ while it was breathing fire at us," she stated flatly, trying to file the tidbit away to share with Varric later:  _Taarsidath-an halsaam, while the Maker-damned thing was trying to kill us!  Taarsidath-an fucking halsaam!_  He would love it.

Bull grinned.  "I know, right?"  He grunted suggestively and Maegwin simply shook her head and took the next drink, choking again.   _Dragon piss.  It's dragon piss, isn't it?_ she thought as she gasped for breath.

"Yeah!" Bull said heartily.  "The second cup's easier.  Most of the nerves in your throat are dead after the first one."  He looked over at her.  "Ataashi.   _'The glorious ones.'_  That's our word for them."  He repeated it lovingly, drawing out the vowels.  "Ataaaaasheeee."

"Why do you think the Qunari think of dragons that way?"  By this point, the wonderful warm feeling had spread all throughout her body, and she decided that if this was what being drunk felt like, it was quite agreeable.

"Well, you know how we have horns?  We kind of look more... dragony... than most people.  Maybe it's that.  But a few of the Ben-Hassrath have this crazy old theory.  See, the Tamassrans control who we mate with.  They breed us for jobs like you'd breed dogs or horses.  What if they mixed in some dragon a long time ago?  Maybe drinking the blood, maybe magic.  I don't know.  But  _something_ in that dragon we killed... spoke to me."

"When you put it like that, I'm worried I killed one of your gods or something."

"Nah," he said dismissively.  "One of Tevinter's gods, maybe.  They worshipped dragons, right?  Kill the shit out of them all you like.  Dragons are the embodiment of raw power.  But it's all uncontrolled, savage...  So they need to be destroyed.  Taming the wild.  Order out of chaos."  He poured even more of the hateful liquor into her cup.  "Have another drink."

She did, barely coughing at all this time.

Bull roared with laughter again, bellowing, "Nice!  To dragons!" and drained his own cup.  Whether he was just drunk enough, or it was his laughing that made him choke, Maegwin would never know, but he dissolved into a fit of coughing.

"To whatever this is, and the hangover it's going to give me tomorrow!" she declared, and laid her head down on the table.

 

 

 

Some time later, Dorian tapped her shoulder.  "I can't believe you actually drank that swill.  Serves you right, slattern."

"You're a terrible friend," she said lovingly, if a bit fuzzily.  "Letting me drink dragon piss.  You could have fucking warned me, you know."

He smiled and pulled her up to standing.  "Come on.  To apologize, I'll help you stagger back to your room."

"I can do it myself."  To prove the point, she headed for the courtyard, and he followed.

"Are you going to  _crawl_ up the stairs?"

She shrugged and nearly toppled over.  "Maybe."

"Won't that be a sight?" he asked gaily, holding the door.

As she crossed the threshold into the courtyard, she told him flatly, "Don't look at my arse," and turned to be sure he had listened, but promptly fell over into the dirt.

Snickering behind one hand, he offered her the other and helped her to her feet.  "I would  _never_."

"I must thank you, you know," she said as they climbed the stairs toward the throne room.

"Me?  Whatever for?"

"The way you flirt.  It's outrageous.  I tried it on Cullen today and got him to turn a shade of red I didn't even know  _existed_."

Dorian smiled wickedly.  "Do tell."

"I'm drunk, not stupid.  I'll do no such thing."

"Who am I going to tell?"

Maegwin regarded him with naked suspicion.  "Only  _e_ _verybody_."  When she saw the starburst throne, she smiled to herself and confessed, "He told me I am ridiculous and breathtaking."

"The way we all smelled, I'm sure it was no compliment."

"It really waaaaas, though," she slurred happily.

They walked in silence, Maegwin trailing her hand along the cold stone wall for balance and thinking about the last time she had made this journey with someone at her side.  Her secret smile returned.   _We have so very much to discuss tomorrow, don't we?_

"What are you looking so pleased about?"

"It was him, you know," she admitted when the door to her chamber had closed behind them.

"No, I don't know.  What is going on in that foggy head of yours?"

"It was  _Cullen_ that Cole was talking about in the wagon."

Dorian's eyes widened, understanding lighting his face.  "That's... sickeningly adorable.  So what are you going to do?"

"I told you what I did.  I shamelessly flirted with him and got him to turn colors."  She flopped bonelessly onto her bed.  " _Colors_ , Dorian."

"But what are you going to  _do_?" he asked again, and this time the question was serious, full of concern.

She stared up at the ceiling and closed her eyes when it began to sway.  "I  _like_ him," she said at last, and her voice sounded small and lost even to her own inebriated ears.  "And it's clear he feels the same way about me.  I wish it could just be that simple."

"Darling, it's not," he said quietly.  "It's really not."

"But I'm not a Circle mage anymore, and he's not a Templar."

"That's the least of the obstacles you face, don't you agree?"

Maegwin lifted her head and peered suspiciously at him.  "Just how much do you know, exactly?" she asked before she could stop herself.

"It's no secret he was tortured by mages in Ferelden," Dorian stated baldly, seating himself on the bed beside her.

She rolled her eyes.  "I know that."

"And there are whispers about the castle that say he has stopped taking lyrium.  Have you heard similar?"

"I hadn't, actually, but it's true: he told me himself."

"Ah," he said, and sounded as though he had been desperately hoping the rumors were false.  "You're my very best friend, Maegwin, and I would hate to see you get hurt."

"Andraste's flaming smalls, Dorian, I  _know_.  Do you think I don't bloody  _know_ ?"  Her voice was becoming unsteady.  "Do you think  _he_ doesn't know?  He didn't tell me -  _me_ , the sodding  _Inquisitor_ \- that he had quit until I... I didn't even know what in the Void was even  _happening_ , he was in  _agony_ , and  _shaking_ , and just...  _alone_.  'Hands warm, soft, soothing and safe.'   _Shit_."  She wiped angrily at the tears leaking from her eyes.

"Oh, stop," Dorian cautioned, laying back on the bed and watching her with amusement.  "Dreadfully common, getting drunk and weeping over a man.  I've never even seen you shed a tear over  _Corypheus_."

"I knoooooow," she moaned dramatically, even as she felt a smile on her face.  "And I don't understand why you keep asking what I'm going to do, when there's only one thing I  _can_ do."

"And what is that, my dear drunken Inquisitor?"

"He and I must have a talk."

"Oh, how very boring.  And are you going to cry like some silly little girl?"

She tossed an arm over her eyes.  "Possibly."


	5. In the Breaks and Pauses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maegwin tracks down her gentleman and gets her kisses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Perseverance" has the most gut-wrenching cut scenes in the entire game, if you ask me. I hope I did them justice.

When Maegwin slipped into Cullen's office, he was skimming through a report, obviously deep in thought. He didn't even look up when the door closed.

"Hello, Ser Lobster."

At the sound of her voice, his head snapped up and he smiled. "Have you had any luck finding that gentleman, then?"

"Ah, well..." His forwardness caught her off guard, and she felt her cheeks heat. "About that. Do you have some time?"

He stood up and walked to her side. "Come, let's take a walk." He led her out onto the battlements, and immediately began to blush. "It's a... nice day."

"What?"

"There was something you wished to discuss?"

Maegwin was no coward. She had completed her Harrowing, had killed a dragon and brought home its head for her throne, had even traveled into the future and witnessed the grim fate that awaited them all if she failed in her fight. And yet suddenly she was too afraid to speak to this man about matters of the heart, too consumed by fear to make a move. _Do you want this, do you want_ him _enough to take the leap?_ she asked herself, and the answer was yes, absolutely, but it was so difficult to find the words.

"Cullen, I care for you, and..." There she hesitated, unsure.

"What's wrong?"

The concern in his voice made her quick to continue. "You left the Templars, but... do you trust mages? Could you think of me as anything more?"

"I could," he said swiftly. "I mean, I-I do... think of you, and what I might say in this sort of situation." Unexpected pain clouded his face and he turned away, took a few steps back toward the way they'd come.

Maegwin stood leaning against the battlements, not sure what she ought to do. "What's stopping you?"

He turned back, and as he talked, he stepped hesitantly toward her again. "You're the Inquisitor. We're at war. And you..." Now he was right in front of her, a heartbreaking mix of wonder and hope shining in his eyes. "I didn't think it was possible." There was so much hidden in those words: he knew just as she did that there was so much standing between them, so many things that could pull them apart and rip their hearts out, and still he wanted it. And he was asking, in the breaks and pauses of his voice, if she did, too.

Her answer sounded light, gentle, but it carried the weight of her certainty. "And yet I'm still here."

"So you are." Now he took those last small steps, pushed her up against the cold stone with the weight of his body. "It seems too much to ask, but I want to..." Their faces were so close that he had become nothing more than an indistinct blur that filled all the world: he was going to kiss her, he was going to--

"Commander. You wanted a copy of Sister Leliana's report."

Cullen pulled back as though he'd been burned. "What?" The word was a growl, and the agent stopped in his tracks with the papers he carried still held out in one hand.

"Sister Leliana's report," he replied, clearly uncertain what he had done to draw ire. "You wanted it delivered without delay."

Cullen glared at the man, clearly not pleased to have his orders thrown back in his face. Maegwin couldn't help the embarrassed laughter that bubbled up when she realized he was not going to take the report, and it drew the attention of the agent, who looked from her - ineffectively trying to hide her hot cheeks with her hands - to Cullen, back and forth, with dawning realization.

"Or to your office?" he finally managed, backing away as though the commander might chase him if he turned his back. "Right." He turned and broke into a run, slamming the door behind him.

Maegwin watched him go. "If you need to--"

Without warning, Cullen pulled her to him, his mouth against hers greedy and desperate, as though he would never again get the chance to kiss her. When he pulled away and touched his forehead against hers, they were both breathless and weak, as though they had been swimming underwater for too long.

"I'm sorry... that was, um... really nice," he stammered, not sounding sorry in the slightest.

Even at a moment like this, she could not resist teasing him. "I believe that was a kiss, but I can't be sure: it's all a blur."

Instead of getting flustered, he laughed. "Yes, well..." This time he was not quite so insistent when their lips met, but it was still a very long time before he let her go.

 

 

 

It did not take Maegwin long to know whether or not he was having a bad day just by the way he kissed her: from the first, his kisses were rough and urgent, but on bad days, he was much more gentle. She was never sure what to do on days like that: pretend she didn't see him pale and trembling in his armor?

It was clear he didn't want to address the fact that he was having difficulty. He tried so desperately to carry on as normal. So usually, she ended up simply pulling him away from his work, insisting he take a break, and they would walk the battlements together in silence.

One day, though, Maegwin showed up outside Cullen's tower and was told by an agent that he had gone to the foundry, and when she arrived there, though she did not mean to, she happened upon a sobering conversation.

The first voice she heard clearly was Cassandra's, asking pointedly, "You expect it to change?"

Then Cullen, quieter, more desperate: "I expect you to keep your word. It's relentless, I can't--"

"You give yourself too little credit."

"If I am unable to fulfill what vows I kept, then _nothing good has come of this._ Would you rather save face than admit--"

When Maegwin opened the door, he stopped abruptly and turned to leave. On the way out, he whispered, "Forgive me," and she wasn't sure if he was talking to her or Cassandra.

"And people say I'm stubborn," the seeker called out behind him. "This is ridiculous."

"Is there a problem?" Maegwin asked, feeling as though she were entirely overstepping her bounds. This conversation had not been meant for her, after all.

"You know Cullen has asked me to watch him."

"Yes. He trusts your judgement. For that matter, so do I."

Cassandra sighed. "Well, he was not interested in my judgement today. Cullen has asked that I recommend a replacement for him."

Maegwin was floored. He had never mentioned this to her, and she had never suspected he doubted himself this much. Her surprise and dismay must have shown in her face, because Cassandra put a hand up and said quickly, "I refused. It's not necessary." Her tone softened. "Besides, it would destroy him. He has come so far." 

"But why didn't he come to me?"

"We had an agreement long before you joined us. As a seeker, I could evaluate the dangers... and he wouldn't want to risk your disappointment."

"Is there anything we can do to change his mind?"

Cassandra considered that briefly before she replied. "If anyone could, it's you. Mages have made their suffering known, but Templars never have. They are bound to the Order, mind and soul, with someone always holding their lyrium leash. Cullen has a chance to break that leash, to prove to himself - and anyone who would follow suit - that it's possible. He can do this: I knew that when we met in Kirkwall. Talk to him, Maegwin. Decide if now is the time." She picked up her sword and stalked off, and Maegwin watched her go with a sinking feeling in her stomach, and after a moment to collect herself, she headed for Cullen's office.

When she arrived, she made the mistake of not knocking, and walked straight in just as Cullen cried out and threw his lyrium kit at the door. Maegwin flinched as both glass and wood fractured and showered down at her feet.

"Maker's breath," he gasped. "I didn't hear you enter. I--" The fight seemed to go out of him, and he visibly sagged, looking down at his desk. "Forgive me."

"Cullen, if you need to talk..."

He started toward her, saying, "You don't have--" but then his knees buckled and he grabbed onto the side of the desk with a groan. When Maegwin rushed to help, he held a hand out to stop her. "I never meant for this to interfere," he explained breathlessly, looking up at her with a pleading expression.

She stopped, close to him, but not close enough to reach out and touch. "Are you going to be all right?"

"Yes," he said quickly, moving stiffly away from her, from the desk. "I don't know. You once asked what happened at Ferelden's circle? It was taken over by abominations." He shuddered and continued, "The Templars - my _friends_ \- were slaughtered." He sucked in a ragged breath and turned away from her, pressing trembling fingers against his eyes as though he could block out the memory. "I was tortured. They tried to break my mind and I--" His hand fell away as he laughed mirthlessly, and Maegwin could hear a hitch in his breathing that told her he was losing control. "How can you be the same person after that?" he asked her.

She wanted to say _you can't be_ , but the words were stuck in her throat. It was unendurable to stand by and watch helplessly as he struggled.

"Still, I wanted to serve. They sent me to _Kirkwall._ I trusted my Knight-Commander, and for what, hmm? Her fear of mages ended in madness. Kirkwall's circle fell: innocent people died in the streets. Can't you see why I want _nothing_ to do with that life?"

"Of course I can, I--" she managed before Cullen cut her off abruptly.

"Don't. You should be _questioning_ what I've done." He sounded as though he were near tears, and at long last, he closed the distance between them. "I thought this would be better, that I would regain some control over my life, but--" He gestured wildly, breath coming in uneven pulls. "But these thoughts won't _leave_ me." He began to pace, and Maegwin was reminded sharply of her nightmares where she could hear him behind a wooden door, pacing endlessly as the red lyrium claimed him. She clutched at the backs of her arms, feeling sick as she watched this man she cared for coming slowly undone.

"How many lives depend on our success?" he asked desperately. "I swore myself to this cause... I will not give less to the Inquisition than I did the Chantry. I should be _taking it._ " Maegwin jumped when he turned suddenly toward the bookshelf and punched it mightily, sending several books tumbling to the stone floor. "I should be taking it," he repeated with less fire.

"This doesn't have to be about the Inquisition," she told him as steadily as she could manage. "Is this what you want?"

Cullen glared at her, but his fist on the bookshelf loosened and dropped to his side. After a moment, he sighed and looked down, confessing tiredly, "No." Maegwin stepped closer, wondering if he would ward her off again, but he only looked up at her with the eyes of a saint, tired and knowing. "But these memories have always haunted me. If they become worse, if I... if I cannot endure this..."

This was as close as he had ever come to telling her _I don't think I can do it_ , and knowing what it must have cost him to admit it to her made her ache. She touched his rough cheek, the only part of him not covered in leather or armor, and mustered the most reassuring voice she could to tell him, "You can."

He began to relax a bit: the tension left his shoulders, the worry lines softened in his face, and he pressed his forehead to hers. When he spoke, his voice carried the weight of exhausted surrender. "All right."

Her hands found his and held tight. "I will help you in any way I can, never doubt that."

"I don't, I never have, but..."

"But nothing, Ser Lobster. Are we in this together or not?"

The last thing she expected was his crooked smile. "Together then."

 

 

 

After that, though he still never told her what was the matter, he didn't have to: when his hands were shaking, he would reach for her, and she would take off his gloves, holding his hands still with her own until the tremors passed. When he was in pain, he would cling tightly to her and press his face into her hair, and she would hold him until the pain eased. And she made sure to always remind him that he could do this, that he was doing it, and that everything would be all right.


	6. I Promise to Close My Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maegwin faces a sudden, unexpected trip away from Skyhold: the Fereldan Frostback is jeopardizing operations in the Hinterlands, and the Pavus family retainer awaits Dorian in Redcliffe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not going to lie, I've had chapters six and seven half-finished for probably three weeks now, but have had no chance to sit down and transcribe the in-game dialogue. Until now!

"My lady Inquisitor, it is good of you to speak with me," Mother Giselle said stiffly. "I have news regarding one of your... companions. The Tevinter."

Maegwin tried to keep her face unreadable, her smile friendly, asking as conversationally as possible, "Is that a note of distaste I detect, Mother Giselle?"

"I... admit his presence here makes me uncomfortable, Inquisitor, but my feelings are of no importance. I have been in contact with his family, House Pavus out of Qarinus. Are you familiar with them?"

As awful as it was, she decided she had already grown weary of this woman, Mother or no. "Familiar? We've never met, if that's what you're suggesting."

"I'm suggesting nothing, I'm only curious whether you know of his... situation. The family sent a letter describing the estrangement from their son and pleading for my aid. They've asked to arrange a meeting, quietly, without telling him. They feel it's the only way he'll come. Since you seem to be on good terms with the young man, I'd hoped..."

"Are you sure this isn't some kind of trap? I mean, the secrecy..."

"That did occur to me: what if it is a plot of those mages, the Venatori? Another reason to put this in your hands, Inquisitor. I pray that isn't the case, but if it is, you are far better equipped than I to respond to such treachery."

"Just what kind of meeting do you have in mind?"

"I believe they just want to talk, to understand why Dorian felt he had to come here. Somewhere private, away from Skyhold, but not in Tevinter. You make them nervous, I think: they don't understand why he's here with the Inquisition. They want him to come home."

"What happens if Dorian doesn't agree?"

"Hopefully that will be the end of it. If not, well... That's why you should be there."

"But why would his family contact you?"

"Because they don't know you, Inquisitor."

Maegwin had to bite her tongue to keep from screeching _but they don't know **you** , either!_

"I am not of the Imperial Chantry," Mother Giselle continued, "but they know what I represent. These are parents concerned about the welfare of their son; how could I not do whatever possible? I would speak to the young man myself, but he does not care for me. Thus, I come to you. If any good can come of this, we must try."

"But they don't want Dorian to know. That seems... odd."

"They believe the young man would refuse." She hesitated before adding, "And the letter implies he'd have cause. Yet they are remorseful for whatever came before. This is a chance for dialogue. There is deceit in bringing the young man to this meeting without his foreknowledge, I know, but does it not lead to a greater kindness if there is potential for reconciliation?"

"If you think I'm going to trick Dorian into meeting his family--"

"I feared you might say that. The family will send a retainer to meet the young man at the Redcliffe Tavern, to take him onward. If he truly does not wish this reunion, he can always end the matter there. I pray you change your mind, Inquisitor. Perhaps their letter will persuade you. If there is any chance of success in this, it behooves us to act." Mother Giselle held out a folded piece of parchment, and Maegwin accepted it, scanning it quickly.

> _Your Reverence,_
> 
> _I understand that you feel inadequate to the task of bringing Dorian to a secret meeting. Even in the asking, I find it difficult to believe, myself. Considering my son has rebuffed all contact, this is the only way. I know him; he would be too proud to come if he knew - even just to talk. That is all we wish to do. The thought of Dorian in the south, placing himself in the path of such danger, alarms us more than I can express._
> 
> _If this somehow succeeds, we have a family retainer at the Vandral Hills watching for Dorian's arrival. He will bring the boy to us, somewhere private. If Dorian utterly refuses to go with him, it ends there... and there is little we can do. We are at our wit's end._
> 
> _Graciously yours,_
> 
> _Magister Halward of House Pavus_

"May I keep this, Mother Giselle?" she asked lightly, feeling horribly guilty. Maker, what had she become? Lying to Chantry mothers and scheming to disobey them...

"Of course, Inquisitor. I pray you find a peaceful resolution to this family conflict."

"Thank you. I-I must go. Excuse me." Maegwin turned and had to restrain herself from running away, instead walking very deliberately into the rotunda as though she were going to stop and chat with Solas, or continue on to Cullen's tower.

Solas did not even turn his attention away from the document on his desk. "Is something wrong, Inquisitor?"

"I am paving my own path into the Void, that's all," she hissed as she swept through the room and up the stairs.

She found Dorian in the library, perusing a shelf for something of interest.

"Dorian," she greeted him seriously. "There's a letter you need to see."

"A letter?" He looked up at her with a grin, asking lasciviously, "Is it a _naughty_ letter? A humorous proposal from some Antivan dowager?"

"Not quite," she replied, coming to his side. "It's from your father."

The bright expression on his face disappeared, the mischievous light left his eyes. "My father? I see. And what does _Magister Halward_ want, pray tell?"

"A meeting."

"Show me this letter," he demanded sternly, and without another word, Maegwin handed it to him. She watched his eyes scan the parchment once, twice, three times. " _I know my son?_ " he mocked, looking back to Maegwin with a face full of thunder. "What my father knows of me would barely fill a _thimble_. This is so _typical_. I'm willing to bet this retainer is a henchman hired to knock me on the head and drag me back to Tevinter."

"That would be hard to do while I stood there."

"And he expects me to travel with _Mother Giselle_ , although Maker knows why he'd think I would." When Maegwin smiled, he brightened a little. "Let's go. Let's meet this so-called family retainer. If it's a trap, we escape and kill everyone: you're good at that. And if it's not, I send the man back to my father with the message that he can stick his alarm in his wit's end."

"There seems to be bad blood between you and your family."

Dorian laughed mirthlessly. "Interesting turn of phrase. But you're correct. They don't care for my choices, nor I for theirs."

Genuinely baffled, she asked, "Because you wouldn't get married? Because you left?"

"That too," he said dismissively.

"I think you should meet with this retainer... find out what your family wants."

"I didn't ask what _you_ thought, did I?" When he saw Maegwin's shock and dismay, he softened a bit. "That... was unworthy. I apologize. There'd be no harm in hearing what this man of my father's has to say. If I don't like it, however, I want to leave."

"Your parents are reaching out to you," she reminded him. "Doesn't that mean something?"

"Only that they're trying to choke me," he said with venom. After a moment, he continued more gently, "Don't mind me. Let's see what comes of this."

"I will speak to my advisors and we will begin preparations as soon as possible."

"Oh, don't mistake my enthusiasm for haste: don't _rush_. Let my father's retainer sit and wait for as long as you please. It will bring me no end of pleasure to imagine him rotting away, fruitlessly awaiting my arrival. I wonder just how much he was paid to sit and wait for me?"

 

 

 

Maegwin, as had become her custom, stopped by the kitchens for four mugs and a kettle of tea before heading for the war room. It was a point of pride for her that she was always the first one there, that she had the tea ready for everyone before they even arrived. But this morning, when the doors creaked open, Cullen was already at the war table, bent over as he consulted a sheaf of paper and a spot on the map. He looked up when he heard the doors, and the grim set of his face, the dark circles under his eyes, told her all she needed to know.

She put her things on the table, took his offered hand, and he pulled her to him, holding her tightly as though she might be taken away.

"Bad night?" she asked quietly, already knowing the answer.

His reply was little more than a muffled sigh into her hair. "Yes, I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing? You've done nothing wrong."

"I don't mean to worry you."

"Cullen..." She pulled away a little to look up at him, hold his pale face in her hands, run her thumbs over the dark smudges under his eyes. "I worry regardless."

His crooked smile was wan as he let her go and turned back to the war table. "And that is why I--"

The creak of the doors interrupted him, and he did not continue as Leliana and Josephine walked in together, carrying on a murmured conversation that had them both smiling. One of Leliana's agents followed behind them at a discreet distance.

Everyone exchanged pleasantries and immediately began shuffling papers about on the war table, organizing their thoughts and documents before beginning. Maegwin served the tea and waited a few moments before asking, "Any news?"

"As a matter of fact..." Cullen began hesitantly, glancing at Leliana. The spymaster nodded and picked up a paper.

"My agents are reporting a large deposit of red lyrium in the Hinterlands, quite near the den of the Fereldan Frostback."

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. "As a result, the dragon appears to be searching for a new lair. This could jeopardize Redcliffe, or our outposts at the Crossroads."

Maegwin realized this must have been what he was looking at on the map. She held her cup of tea in both hands and considered the news. "Perhaps it will antagonize the bandits. That would be less work for us."

"We cannot leave this to chance, Inquisitor," he replied.

"It was a poor joke, Commander. Dagna believes she has found a way for us to handle red lyrium without harm. Her tests so far have been quite promising. I can lead a team to deal with this deposit."

"Perhaps we could send someone... less important?" Josephine suggested cautiously. "Not that I doubt Dagna's expertise, but..."

It was foremost in Maegwin's mind as well. If Dagna was wrong and she and her companions were irrevocably damaged somehow, what would that do to destabilize the Inquisition? Forget the Inquisition, what would it do to _Cullen?_ She reminded herself that the arcanist's experiments had gone well.

"It is important for the troops to understand that the Inquisitor would not send them to do a job that she would not do herself, if need be," Cullen explained. "It is important for them to see that this can be done safely."

"If Dagna says she's found a way to do this safely, I'm inclined to trust her. She's not led us astray yet.," Maegwin said evenly, unwilling to show her own doubt. "While we're on the topic of Redcliffe, Magister Halward Pavus has written Mother Giselle asking for help in tricking Dorian into a meeting with the Pavus house retainer." Without further comment, she laid the letter on the table. Leliana snatched it up immediately.

"It could be a trap," she said once she had scoured the words on the parchment. "From everything I have been able to uncover, Dorian and his father parted on very bad terms. It seems suspicious in the extreme that Magister Halward would attempt to lure his son away for a secret meeting."

"Mother Giselle and Dorian both suspect some kind of plot, which is why I intend to accompany him."

"So you told him?" Leliana asked with raised brows.

"Of course," Maegwin said as though it were obvious. "Perhaps I could take a team out to deal with the red lyrium and the dragon, and then afterward, see what is really going on with this retainer."

There was silence for a moment as her advisors considered it, and then the spymaster said quietly, "Perhaps that is the best course of action. Shall I send some agents with you? If it is the Venatori, it couldn't hurt to have the help."

"No, thank you. I believe the smaller the team accompanying us, the more comfortable Dorian will be about this. He is most displeased with the situation as it is." Maegwin turned to the agent standing near the doorway. "Please summon Dagna, Varric, the Iron Bull, and Dorian. If there are any problems, do come get me."

"Problems, your grace?" the agent asked nervously.

"I won't enumerate, you will know a problem when you encounter it. In that case, come to me, and I will handle it." Maegwin was thinking of Bull, drunk perhaps, or preoccupied with a woman. Or a man. With him, nothing surprised her in the slightest anymore.

The man held a fist to his heart in salute and quickly left upon his errand.

"Is there anything else I should know?" Maegwin asked her advisors as they waited.

So began a discussion on troop movements and political maneuverings. The standard morning briefing. It was all very boring, and all very necessary.

Dorian was the first to arrive. "I'm going to kill you, you know," he greeted Maegwin brightly. "I've not been made privy to the details, but I know I am going to hate every blasted moment of this little jaunt."

"We're going to see your father's retainer."

"See? I knew it."

"But first we are going to deal with some red lyrium and a dragon," she replied as Varric entered.

"And it will be a welcome distraction, indeed. Perhaps I will be so lucky as to get eaten by the beast, dashing all hope of a lovely family reunion."

Varric smiled wryly. "It'll be fun, Sparkler. You'll see. Besides, I'm just glad we're dealing with someone _else's_ personal bullshit this time."

"Speaking of personal bullshit, Varric," Maegwin replied cheerfully, "I'd like to remind you that the only reason I kept my mouth shut when Bianca threatened to rip out my eyeballs was out of respect for you."

"You're _still_ mad about that?" he asked with a laugh.

"All I'm saying is that if we go to Redcliffe and I get threatened _again_ when all I am trying to do is help a friend, House Pavus is going to need a new retainer." She turned her attention to Dagna, just walking in. "Dagna! Just the arcanist I was hoping to see..."

 

 

 

Dagna spent most of the day with them, walking them through the method she had devised for handling red lyrium. It was a complicated process involving lots of magic: barriers and lifting, to minimize contact. Special sealed containers, and so very much maneuvering, lifting and _focusing,_ with everything having to happen in a certain order. It was maddening, and they had to run through it again and again to be sure they had it exactly right.

Around midday, Cullen stopped by the courtyard. He watched them for several minutes, waiting until there was a break in the activity to ask, "A word, Maegwin?"

"Of course. We should stop for lunch anyway. Everyone meet back here in half an hour." Still clutching her staff, she watched the others scatter.

"It seems as though this is going to occupy most of your time today."

Maegwin groaned dramatically. "Oh, please don't say that."

"May I assist you in packing for your trip?"

She turned to him, surprised at the suggestion. "Packing? Really?"

"Yes. Is that all right?"

"You must have enough to do without taking time out of your day to sort through my smalls, Ser Lobster."

It was a rare and memorable occasion indeed when her teasing did not turn him into a stammering, blushing mess. He smiled, a confident little smirk she had only seen from him as they played chess, and she knew immediately that he was planning something.

"I promise to close my eyes very tightly while packing your smallclothes."

She burst out laughing, caught entirely off guard by his reply. "Well, how I can I say no to such a gentlemanly offer?"

"Will you write a list and have it delivered to my office? I'd hate to send you off to fight a dragon without enough clean socks."

"I can do that right now if you'd like to come with me."

"No, I'm sorry, I must get back to work. But I would like to spend time with you later... if that's all right."

"I would love that."

"Good. Please don't forget the list." He kissed her on both cheeks and turned to walk away.

Maegwin sang out behind him, " _Freckle kisses!_ " and watched his ears turn pink.


	7. Maker Guide Your Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's even worse than a Venatori trap? A couple of Tevinter mages who have very effectively burned their bridges behind them. Maegwin and co. get more than they bargained for in the Hinterlands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did this instead of studying. PRIORITIES.

By the time Dagna was confident in their abilities, the sun had set, and several scouts and agents had begun loading the wagons for the journey in the morning. Maegwin watched them for several minutes, caught between wanting to help and wanting to go find Cullen: her desire to spend what time she had left at Skyhold with him won out in the end and she headed up to his office, only to find that it was deserted. Had he gone to her room to wait for her? It seemed unlikely, but she could think of nowhere else he would be at this time in the evening.

Her room was dark but for the dancing light of the fireplace, and that was nothing unusual: what was entirely out of place was Cullen, curled up asleep on the couch. His armor was laid out neatly on the floor, against the wall and out of the way, and Maegwin was surprised at the thought that had gone into that simple action, even though common sense told her that was stupid: Cullen was never one to abuse his armor, after all, was he? While she changed into her nightgown, she held a fierce internal debate over whether or not to wake him. He had been so tired earlier that she truly did want to let him sleep, but all the same, he had said he wanted to spend time with her before she left in the morning...

She lifted his arm and settled herself under it, her back against his chest, and was surprised at just how soft and warm he was. Always before when their bodies had been pressed together, there was his armor between them, cold and hard, a barrier that she had never even known she minded until it was gone. Maker, she could feel him breathing: the simple rise and fall of his chest held her spellbound until she felt a hitch in his breath.

"No," he said shortly, startling her. "Maegwin, get up. Get up, get up, _move_." On the last word, he pushed her away with more force than he had ever directed at her, even during sword training, and she tumbled to the floor in an undignified heap as he scrambled away. For a moment, she only sat there, bewildered and more than a little startled, but when she felt the cold gust of wind come in from the balcony, she got up and moved to close the doors. Cullen stood clutching the cold stone railing, panic etched in every line of his body as his frantic breaths fogged the air, and that was when Maegwin realized what had just happened.

"I'm sorry, Cullen," she told him gently, and came to his side, suddenly ashamed of her reluctance to touch him. What if she just made things worse?

"Are you all right?" he asked tremulously. "I didn't hurt you, did I?" That he could be concerned with her well being in the midst of his own paroxysm of anxiety touched her deeply.

"It takes much more than a fall off a couch to put a dent in my hide," she assured him, and left unsaid that he _could_ have hurt her if he had lashed out and hit her, that she would have tried to use magic to restrain him if that occurred: just the thought was enough to make _her_ feel sick, there was no need to burden him with the knowledge and send him deeper into a spiral. "May I... May I hold you?" she stammered at last, feeling both ridiculous and terrified. _What if she just made things worse?_

There was disbelief in his eyes when he looked up at her and asked, "Would you?"

"Of course, my lobster." Had he wanted to ask her and been afraid she might say no?

It was jarring to wrap her arms around a waist that was not leather and steel but flesh and blood, to find that the arms that enveloped her were not uncomfortably poking and pinching but yielding and safe, to rest her cheek on a shoulder that was not an unforgiving breastplate and pauldron but simply Cullen. He felt... different: smaller, vulnerable, fragile in a way that he never had before, even during the bad days, and Maegwin found herself afraid that she might break him somehow, shatter him irrevocably like a porcelain doll. Still, the way he melted against her was entirely familiar, leaning into her to press his face into her neck, somehow protective and also in need of protecting all at once. His breath on her skin, his hand cradling the back of her head; those things were the same.

"Tell me what happened."

"This wasn't supposed to--" he began, and then stopped abruptly to begin a new thought. "I can't bear close spaces. The feeling of being trapped is... overwhelming. It's absurd, but for one second when I woke, I thought _oh, this is wonderful_ , and then suddenly it... _wasn't_. There was no room to move, and I couldn't... I panicked."

"I'm sorry," she said again, horrified that what she had meant as a sweet gesture had brought this on. "If I'd known, I never would have--"

"Don't, Maegwin. It was lovely, until..."

"It was," she agreed, adding boldly, "I like you without your armor."

He raised his head, smiling a little, and touched his forehead to hers. "I like you without my armor, too. Perhaps we could try that again, if you'll allow it?"

"That would be very nice." Her bare feet on the frozen stone were aching fiercely by that point, prompting her to ask, "Will you come back inside with me?"

"Lead the way."

So she did, pulling away from him and taking his hand, guiding him back into the warmth of her chamber and to her bed. It wasn't until they were curled up together under the blankets that he asked hesitantly, "I'm not very good at this, am I?"

Maegwin floundered, trying to find a way to strike a balance between meeting his need for reassurance and her desire to make light of a serious situation. "Neither am I," she said at last, "but here we are, and we seem to like each other well enough."

His small huff of laughter told her she had succeeded. "Yes, here we are. At least, until morning."

"So you'll stay, Ser Lobster, just like the last time I left Skyhold? Are we starting a tradition, then?"

"I hope so." Something like apprehension crept into his voice. "Be careful out there."

"I always am, but for you, I shall be doubly so. And you... Take care of yourself."

"For you, I will try."

 

 

Magewin lay awake all night, as she always did before her missions away from Skyhold, worrying about all the things that could go wrong and all the ways in which she could make a mistake. The worries were different for every journey, depending on the terrain and the things which needed to be accomplished, but always the anxiety kept her company in those long hours before setting out. It was more bearable with Cullen beside her, even though he was sleeping deeply. Several times, though, she had to wake him from what were obviously nightmares. She didn't mind. Every time, he smiled and said with clear surprise, "It's you," and pulled her close. No, she didn't mind at all.

When she rose slightly before dawn, Cullen was still fast asleep. She dressed with her back to him, methodically pulling on her leather armor and boots, braiding her hair, checking to be sure her staff was strapped securely to her back, her spirit blade tucked snugly into her belt.

"So this is what you wear to fight a dragon? Leather?"

She jumped, and spun around to find Cullen sitting on the side of the bed, watching her. "Maker's balls, Cullen, you scared me."

The scarred side of his mouth lifted up in a tiny smile. "I would feel dreadfully naked facing such a beast with only leather between my flesh and its teeth."

"Well, it's the tail and the elemental attacks you really have to watch out for, not the teeth."

"Maegwin, you're hardly making me feel any better about this." He held a hand out to her, and she crossed the room to take it.

"If I manage everything correctly, it won't even bruise me," she said as she squatted before him, leather creaking. "Shall I tell you how I expect it to go?"

"Please."

"It will focus on Bull, because he will be _right there_ with his axe. Varric will be raining arrows at it from higher ground. Dorian and I will stand back and provide support: it's our job to keep everyone covered with barriers and hit the dragon's weak spots with whatever we've got that works. Someone goes down, we revive them. When it's over, I heal whoever's been bloodied." When she saw the expression on his face, she added quickly, "Usually Bull, but if I do my job correctly, no one gets hurt. It's simple."

"It's a _dragon_."

She squeezed his hand. "I came back from the last one, and I'll come back from this one, too. You'll see. And when I return, we'll celebrate with a bottle of wine if you like."

"All right," he said reluctantly, as though he didn't quite believe her.

"Now, I'm very sorry, but I have to go. So, Ser Lobster, will you give me a kiss for good luck?"

 

 

When they stopped for the night, Maegwin found out what Cullen had really been planning when he had asked to pack her things: pinned inside her bedroll there was a folded piece of parchment with her name on it, written in his precise, blocky script. What in the world he was getting at, why would he go to all the trouble of doing this on a day when he had so clearly been unwell and there were so many other things to worry about? _Because he cares about you, you daft creature_ , she chided herself, and the glowing feeling that filled her chest was tempered mightily by the ache she felt at knowing she would not see him again for weeks.

 

> Maegwin,
> 
> The last time your duties took you away from Skyhold, you told me that you would not go looking for any dragons. It pains me more than you realize to know that this time, you are heading afield with the specific purpose of killing one, and no such assurances shall be forthcoming. That awful skull you brought back is monstrous in size, and the thought of you facing down such a creature makes me sick. I can do nothing more than place my faith in the skills you have learned - from your teammates and myself - and ask that the Maker guide your hand in combat.
> 
> I will miss you dreadfully while you are gone, though I sincerely doubt I shall tell you so before you leave. I will miss your laughter, the scent of sunshine in your hair, the way you can tease a smile from me on even the worst days, the affection in your voice when you call me Ser Lobster, even your incorrigible teasing (especially your incorrigible teasing). I will miss you, Maegwin. Please be safe. Please come back to me. What else is there to be said?
> 
> Cullen
> 
> Post script: I refuse to end this letter on such a solemn note, so... would you be terribly disappointed if I said I didn't close my eyes?

Her reply began the voyage back to Skyhold with a raven nearly a week later.

 

> Ser Lobster,
> 
> Rest easy, the beast is vanquished. It was quite a different fight than we expected - dragonlings everywhere. Laugh at my soft heart if you like, but I was not prepared to slaughter a mother and her babies, even if they were dragons intent on killing us. It weighs heavily on my conscience.
> 
> Enough of my melancholy, though. Is this the part where I am supposed to be romantic? Is that what we're doing now, romantic things? (Side note - can you even imagine what people would say if they knew I was so impertinent to my commander of forces? Scandalous.) Maker's blood, Ser Lobster, I am probably the least romantic person in all of Thedas. What is the point? What good comes of telling you that I wish you were here? What use is there in admitting that I worry day and night about you: how are you feeling, are you getting enough sleep, are you working too hard? ~~What if something awful happens to you while I'm away?~~ No, I won't write that: I believe we are both thinking it already, and it does not bear repeating.
> 
> I will be safe, and I will come back to you. In the meantime, please be kind to yourself, and don't ever forget that everything will be all right.
> 
> Maegwin
> 
> Post script: Imagining you rooting through my smalls - like a pig in shit! - had me in tears laughing. So just this once, I believe I can overlook the fact that you broke your promise.
> 
>  

 

With the dragon dealt with, they moved on to the red lyrium. Dorian was uncharacteristically short-tempered, his usual humorous sarcasm replaced by the kind of helpless anger one normally saw from wild animals caught in traps. Varric and Bull tried to make light of it, but Maegwin could see that his attitude was wearing on them: Bull, at one point, remarked that he thought this particular bit of drudgery was even worse than both the Fallow Mire and Crestwood, and Varric elected to share a tent with Bull rather than remain in the company of Dorian when he was being so unpleasant.

It was past time to have a talk with Dorian, and though she certainly didn't relish the thought of being the direct target of his misplaced ire, it seemed an inevitability. She waited until everyone had gone to sleep for the night, knowing that there would be no real opportunity for privacy unless she followed him to the makeshift privy, which she most certainly was not going to do.

"Dorian, are you awake?" she asked softly, rather hoping he wasn't so that she wouldn't have to have this talk.

"What do you want with me at this time of the night?" By his flat tone, it was obvious he didn't want to be bothered.

Rather than make some terrible quip about sex, which was what she normally would have done, she replied quietly, "We don't have to go to Redcliffe, you know."

Dorian made a noise halfway between laughter and disgust.

It was better than whatever cutting remark she had feared from him, so she sat up and forged ahead with a bit more confidence, "I'm serious. If you prefer, I can go alone and give this man a message from you."

"A message? I would advise you to simply wave your middle finger about and leave without further comment."

"What did they do, Dorian?" When he didn't respond, she continued, "I've never seen you so upset. Have I done the wrong thing in asking you to come out here?"

"To make a long and dramatic story painfully short, I was not who my father expected me to be, and there was a confrontation. Nasty things were said." He deepened his voice a bit and said almost mockingly, " _Get out, you are no son of mine_."

"It seems you and I have that in common."

"Indeed? I never would have expected."

"A story for another time," she said simply. "What do you want to do about this? What will make you feel better?"

"I would like to drink. Heavily," he replied, and the sharp edge in his voice told her that the questions had hit home.

"I'm serious."

"So am I." After a pause, he asked very softly, "Tell me, what would you do if it were your parents?"

She considered the question carefully for several moments before admitting, "I don't know."

"That's just it, isn't it? Neither do I," he replied, and sounded suspiciously near tears. "They are my parents, and I don't know whether I love them or hate them. I don't know what to do! _What am I supposed to do, Maegwin_?"

Though she couldn't see anything in the darkness, she stared at the space where she knew him to be. "I think you should go. They are your parents, and if they are reaching out to you like this, it seems cruel to ignore them."

"You speak to me of _cruelty_?" he asked in a harsh whisper, and something soft hit her in the head. His pillow.

Belatedly, she put her arms up, and managed to deflect the next hit. "Stop it."

"You have no _inkling_ of what you speak."

Another blow, and she tried to grab the pillow from him. "Stop, Dorian."

"They tried to use blood magic on me, you fool, and you bandy about the word _cruel_?" Another whack.

"Andraste's blistered arse!" And another. "Will you let me _speak_ , or are you simply going to batter me until I beg for mercy?"

Dorian made a disgusted noise, but the beating ceased. "Fine."

"Look, I'm not telling you that you need to go back to Tevinter and make nice with your parents, all right? Just meet with with this damned retainer and hear what he has to say. I'm not saying don't be angry, because I would be, too, if I were in your place. But taking it out on us serves no one. We're you're _friends_."

"I admit I've been..."

"An absolute dick?" Maegwin supplied. "No offense."

"Okay, I've been an absolute dick," he repeated hotly. "Shall I apologize?"

"No, just try not to treat us like we've bullied you into this meeting."

"I can _try_."

She lay back down with a sigh. "I suppose that's all I can ask of you. Thank you, Dorian."

"You should thank me for not hitting you with my staff."

"Well, then thank you for that, too."

"Now shut up and leave me be."

 

 

Dealing with the red lyrium was draining, and by the end of it, everyone was in agreement with Bull that it was the worst assignment they'd ever suffered through. And they still had to make the trip to Redcliffe. Riding their horses into the village felt like a vacation after the slog of the past three weeks, and knowing that this was the last task before they headed home was truly the only thing that kept Maegwin in the saddle.

When they arrived at the tavern and tied up their horses, Varric asked conversationally, "So, Herald, how do you want to do this?"

She had considered little else during the journey there. "I want you and Bull to wait out here and cover the door. If anyone comes out before Dorian or me, you're to assume we're ass deep in bad guys. In that case, come in and kill whatever gets in your way."

"Fuck _yes_ ," Bull sighed happily, pulling out his axe.

"Could you maybe pretend to be a little less excited about the possibility this is a trap?" Varric inquired.

Dorian ignored them all and walked grimly toward the entrance: Maegwin imagined he must feel as though he were walking to the gallows. He hesitated at the door, and she bumped his shoulder with her own.

"Hey, it's going to be all right, I promise. Do you want me to go first?"

"No, this is my battle to be fought, not yours," he responded firmly, and stepped inside. She followed a few steps behind.

The door had barely closed behind her when he said, "Uh-oh. Nobody's here. This doesn't bode well."

To their left, Maegwin saw someone move. She glanced over, immediately wary, only to find it was an older man coming from the upper rooms, no weapons on him. That didn't mean he wasn't dangerous. That didn't mean this wasn't a trap.

"Dorian," he said gravely.

Dorian's entire stance changed: he looked tensed as though for a blow. "Father. So the whole story about the 'family retainer' was just... what? A smoke screen?"

So this was Dorian's father. This unassuming man was the Tevinter magister who had tried to use blood magic on his son. She wasn't sure what she had expected, but this plain and nervous man was not it.

Magister Halward approached cautiously. "Then you were told. I apologize for the deception, Inquisitor. I never intended for you to be involved."

There was so much that Maegwin wanted to say to that, but Dorian leapt into the silence with all the fury he had been cautiously venting over the past weeks. "Of course not. Magister Pavus couldn't come to Skyhold and be seen with the dread Inquisitor. What would people _think_? What is this, exactly, Father? Ambush? Kidnapping? _Warm family reunion_?"

The elder Pavus looked beseechingly to Maegwin. "This is how it has always been."

Did he expect her to choose sides? Did he want her to play mediator? "You went through all of this to get Dorian here. Talk to him."

"Yes, Father. Talk to me. Let me hear how mystified you are by my anger."

"Dorian," he replied carefully, "there's no need to--"

Dorian turned to Maegwin. "You know I prefer the company of men. My father disapproves."

"This is not exactly news, Dorian," she told him with a tiny smile.

It seemed to calm him a bit. "And why should it be? Why should anyone care? I have no idea."

Halward bristled. "This display is uncalled for."

"No it is called for. _You_ called for it by luring me here."

"This is not what I wanted."

"I'm never what you wanted, Father, or had you forgotten?"

Maegwin stepped a little closer to him, touched the back of his hand. "Your father might be here to reach out. You could give him a chance."

"Let's just go," he replied savagely.

"Then walk away, Dorian. You already did that once, didn't you?"

"I agree. Let's go. There's nothing more to be gained here."

"Dorian, please," Halward said desperately. "If you'll only listen to me."

In that moment, Maegwin no longer saw a dread magister, she was looking at a father trying fiercely to rebuild the bridges he'd burned with his only child.

"Why? So you can spout more convenient lies? _He_ taught me to hate blood magic. _The resort of the weak mind_ : those are _his_ words. But what was the first thing you did when your precious heir refused to play pretend for the rest of his life? You tried to..." The waver in his voice was unmistakeable. "... _change_ me!"

"I only wanted what was best for you!"

"You wanted the best for you! For your _fucking_ legacy! Anything for that!" He walked away, not leaving, but clearly putting an end to the conversation.

Maegwin followed him. "Don't leave it like this, Dorian. You'll never forgive yourself."

The look he gave her was full of disgust, but after a few moments, he returned to his father. "Tell me why you came."

"If I knew I would drive you to the Inquisition..."

"You didn't. I joined the Inquisition because it's the right thing to do. Once I had a father who would have known that." He turned away again and stalked to the door, and only Maegwin saw Halward's expression crumble into one of defeat.

"Once," he said quietly, "I had a son who trusted me. A trust I betrayed."

Dorian froze and slowly turned back to his father.

"I only wanted to talk to him," Halward continued. "To hear his voice again. To ask him to forgive me."

As if asking permission, Dorian looked back at Maegwin. The wary hope she saw him his eyes was something that threatened to break her heart: whatever he said, it was clear he loved his father deeply. She nodded, at a loss for words, and watched as father and son walked away for a private conversation.After a moment, she stepped into the doorway to find Bull and Varric waiting with their weapons out.

"Worse than a trap," she told them. "It's his father."

"Well, shit," Varric sighed.

"You guys want to come in and have a few drinks while they're talking?"

It went without saying that they did.


	8. Like One of Varric's Maker-Damned Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the calm after all the drama, Varric and Dorian coax a story out of Maegwin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In all honesty, I probably could have had this chapter out ages ago, but I was distracted by a bunch of stuff in chapter 9. Also, real life. On the plus side, I kicked ass during the fall semester, so I've got that going for me, which is nice.

That night at camp, after everyone had fallen half-drunk into their bedrolls and all was blessedly quiet, Maegwin stayed awake. The dragon fight had left her feeling flayed, and she had not had the time to nor the luxury of actually dealing with the negative emotions: all of it had simply been pushed aside so that she could focus on the tasks before her.

So she sat alone by the fire and simply allowed herself to feel terrible, fully and completely. There was no way around it: she had participated in the slaughter of infants, no matter that they were dragons. They hadn't had a chance. Of all the deaths she had caused in the name of the Inquisition, these were the ones that would haunt her.

Her reverie was interrupted when Dorian sat down next to her, so close that they were touching sides.

"Are you all right?" she asked. "Today can't have been easy for you."

"I'm better, if that's what you mean. Not dreading the meeting any longer, anyway."

"I hope this brought you and your father some closure, if nothing else."

Dorian considered that for a moment. "It's a start, I suppose. I'm still not ready to forgive him, though, which disappointed him greatly."

"Forgiveness is a process, don't you think? It's not something you can simply give on command."

"Exactly!" He sounded relieved at her understanding. "Though I'm inclined to think it's not a thing that necessarily needs to be given at all."

"That's a decision only you can make, Dorian. I'll admit that I'm perhaps not the best person to be giving advice about forgiveness."

"Hm," he sighed. "I suppose it can't hurt to wallow in someone else's misery, can it? Tell me the story."

"Oh, no. Another time."

Varric chose that moment to join them at the fire. "Are you purposely avoiding telling anyone anything about yourself?"

"You could talk to any of the mages we rescued at Redcliffe Castle and they'd have stories similar to mine. My experience is nothing extraordinary, Varric. There is no grand revelation to be had in sharing it with anyone," she told him tightly.

"Humor us, then," he replied goodnaturedly. "You've listened to us tell you about ourselves, haven't you?"

"Oh, holy Andraste..." she sighed. "Very well. Where do I start? You know the Trevelyans are nobles from Ostwick, which is hardly being a noble at all when you think about it, but... at any rate, I had two older brothers, Martyn and Mattias."

"Matching names, how droll," Dorian piped up.

" _Very_ droll," Maegwin agreed easily. "So I was the youngest child of a very minor noble family, and a daughter besides, so the expectation was that when I came of age, I would either join the Chantry or marry one of the sons of a neighboring lord. I knew from the start that I didn't want to be a Sister. I wanted - oh, you'll laugh, Dorian, I almost don't want to confess it because you'll think I'm absolutely mad - I wanted a family of my own, a husband and children, and I couldn't have that in the Chantry."

To his credit, Dorian didn't laugh. "I can see that. I can, absolutely. You're so sweet. Sickeningly adorable. Continue."

Varric interrupted. "Somehow you never struck me as the type to just... obey. You were really okay with marrying someone you hardly knew?"

"I can't say I was, but I had been raised understanding that that was what was expected of me, so it didn't seem as distasteful to me as... what came later."

"You mean the Circle?" Dorian asked. "But weren't you raised to believe all that tripe about magic serving man?"

"Honestly, I didn't really think about it. I was a child: it wasn't exactly on my list of shit to be concerned with."

Varric's laugh was startled, genuine. "This is like listening to _Cole_ swear. I'm so _uncomfortable."_

Maegwin ignored him. "Anyway, yes, I mean the Circle. And yes, I was raised to believe that mages belonged locked away. My father told me they were monsters, and I was a child, so I believed him. And then I came into my magic, and that made _me_ a monster." She paused, staring into the fire, trying to find a way to sum up what had occurred without it also sounding melodramatic. Finally, she smiled, confessing, "I don't know how to tell you this part without it sounding like one of Varric's Maker-damned stories--"

" _Hey!"_

"--So I suppose all I can do is just describe what happened. Bear with me, all right?"

"Was it really so bad?" Dorian asked with surprising gentleness.

"It seemed so at the the time," she replied honestly. "I had only just celebrated my seventh birthday--"

"When is your birthday, anyway?" Varric asked with no small amount of curiosity.

"Cullen knows," she answered evasively, enjoying the banter.

"Of course _Curly_ knows," he replied, disgusted. "I expect Nightingale does, too. I bet you assholes had a big party in the war room and didn't invite me..."

Maegwin snorted with laughter. "No, honestly. It's between Satinalia and First Day, and Satinalia is still _months_ away. But if you like, I can make sure you receive an invitation to any... festivities."

"Sweet Maker, it sounds like you're inviting me to a threesome."

" _And you're complaining!"_ Dorian exclaimed. "By Andraste's flaming _knickers!"_

"Sparkler, if you think a threesome with this girl and _Curly_ is something to aspire to--"

"Is this a thing you think often about?" Maegwin asked primly, feeling her face grow uncomfortably hot. "I assure you, there shall be _no_ threesomes, and _even if there were,_ I'm certain neither of you would be included."

"Oh, my poor wounded pride," Varric countered. "Now, if I'm not mistaken, you were telling a story? We seem to have gotten a bit distracted."

"How did we go from talking about the single most traumatic event of my life, to threesomes?"

"Magic," he replied. "And liquor."

"That will do it every time," Dorian replied with a knowing smirk.

" _Anyway,"_ Maegwin continued after a beat, "I had just turned seven, and my oldest brother, Martyn, fell out of a tree. He was racing Mattias to the top of the tallest tree on our lands, and I was the judge. It was one of our favorite games to play, and I never tired of watching the two of them. They would get so very high up that my heart would pound and my hands would sweat, I was terrified just watching, but it was... It was exciting. On this day, Mattias was winning, and Martyn was trying desperately to outpace him... and he fell." She shifted uncomfortably. "You know how sometimes you see a terrible thing happening, and it seems like time has slowed? Everything occurs in such stark detail, and you wonder in hindsight how you noticed anything at all. It was like that. It took just a moment to actually happen, but I remember everything with such awful clarity. It seemed like it took him forever to hit the ground, and when he did, I thought _this isn't real, I'm going to wake up in my bed,_ and I wanted to turn away because it was just... I didn't want to see the blood, I didn't want to see him hurt and dying, but I couldn't _not_ do something, so I went to him, and he was bleeding everywhere, just... everywhere. From his mouth, his ears... gasping for breath like a fish out of the water... Mattias was making an unholy amount of noise as he came crashing down out of the tree, screaming for Martyn, for me, for _help,_ and then it was like someone had slammed a door between me and the rest of the world. It all seemed so far away, all the noise, the fear. It was just me and Martyn, and every part of me was willing him not to die, to stop bleeding and just go back to being whole and healthy, and... then he _did_ stop bleeding, and he _did_ become whole again. And he looked at me with the worst kind of fear in his eyes, he and Mattias both, staring at me like I was a dragon."

"Are you serious?" Dorian demanded, a tinge of anger coloring his voice. "You save someone's life, and then they act as though you just sprouted another head? Has no one heard of _gratitude_ in your backwoods part of Thedas?"

"I appreciate your outrage on my part."

"But you're not done," he replied, subdued. "I think I know where this is going."

"Perhaps you do," she replied, and then hesitated briefly before forging on. "I didn't quite understand what had happened, but my brothers did: they took off running like..."

"Ruptured ducks?" Varric offered, and Maegwin smiled weakly.

"Sure, why not. They ran for home like a couple of ruptured ducks. So I followed, but I wasn't as fast as they were, and by the time I reached the house, they had already told our parents. Mum was sobbing and Da was standing there with a face like thunder and a horse whip in his hand. I had no idea what was even going on, I only knew that they thought I'd done something awful, so I sort of stood there, frozen, until Da told me, 'Maegwin, you _healed_ him.' And then it made perfect sense, all of it, and I started crying because I _couldn't_ be a mage, I was just _me:_ mages were supposed to be horrible, scary people, and I had only wanted my brother to not die, I hadn't done anything _wrong._ Now, Da had never hit me, never in my life, I was his only daughter and he spoiled me terribly, but he grabbed my arm and I swear the _Templars_ never whipped a mage as hard as Bann Trevelyan did that day. The entire time, he was--"

"Am I understanding this correctly?" Dorian interrupted, even more heated than before. "You saved the life of their oldest son and heir, and they _beat you for it?"_

"Welcome to Fereldan, Sparkler."

"Varric, it was the Free Marches," Maegwin reminded him flatly.

"Yeah, but it all looks the same from Tevinter," the dwarf replied.

"All right," Dorian waved his hand dismissively. "So your father was a complete arse and whipped you, and the entire time he was what?"

"Unleashing verbal fury the likes of which I had never heard before. If he had been a mabari, he would have been foaming at the mouth. Perhaps he _was_ foaming at the mouth, I wasn't exactly in a position to look and see. I hardly remember all he said, but the things that I do recall hurt more than the whip: he told me I was a monster and that as far as the family was concerned, Maegwin Trevelyan was dead." She hesitated, feeling as though she were exposing her most private parts, then forged on. "I suppose you'll understand, then, that the moment I learned enough in the Circle to understand what the Tranquil were, I asked to be made one of them."

Varric sighed. "Even knowing what led up to it, I admit I'm kind of... surprised."

"Obviously the First Enchanter denied my request, but all the same, for a very long time, it seemed the most attractive option. I didn't want to be a mage. I didn't want to be a... a monster."

"So, dare I ask, at what point did you realize that being a mage wasn't the worst thing you could be?"

"Honestly? I still feel like being a mage is the worst thing I could be," she confessed baldly.

"No, Maegwin, no," Dorian began, but she cut him off.

"Look at the mages in Fereldan, at the abuse that took place in some of the Circles. There are people throughout Thedas who honestly and truly believe that you and I are one step above demons, Dorian, simply because we command magic."

"Those people are slackjawed morons," he replied. "Don't hate magic because of the fear of simpleminded fools."

"I'm not saying I _hate_ magic. It's only a tool, but it is one I find little joy in wielding."

" _Oh, come on,"_ Varric scoffed. "You can't sit there and tell me honestly that you don't think it's fucking _amazing_ to shoot lightning out of your fingertips? Or _fireballs?"_

" _Have you ever pissed magic?"_ Dorian snickered, imitating Sera, and Varric roared. 

"All right," Maegwin conceded, ignoring the interruption. "I admit those are pretty fun most of the time, but--"

"Or that thing Chuckles does with the--" Varric mimed a fist punching someone. "The big stone fist?"

"The big stone fist is magnificent," she agreed. "But then on the other side of the sovereign we've got abominations, and--"

"All that crazy shit with the red lyrium, and the Breach, and Corypheus, and blood magic, and... All right, I get it," Varric said in a rush. "But can you tell me how you got all caught up in this crazy bullshit in the first place?".

"I'm not sure I quite understand what you--"

"How did you end up at the Divine Conclave? Weren't you a healer or something?"

"I was an _apprentice_ healer."

"Exactly my point: what was an apprentice healer doing at the Conclave? You weren't there for the learning experience."

"After the Circles were dissolved, most of the mages of Ostwick decided to remain together. Safety in numbers, you know. Our First Enchanter was supportive of those who chose to leave, and though I talked all the time about going, I never did. I felt it was more important to make sure the children were safe, and so I stayed. When word went out that there was to be a Divine Conclave, we had many discussions. If things went badly, if the Templars did something terrible... we were not ignorant of the danger involved." She laughed bitterly. "I take that back: I'm certain no one was expecting Corypheus to murder Divine Justinia and blow up the Temple."

Varric smiled. "Looks like you surprised each other, Posypatch, because he wasn't expecting you to come after him like a rabid hound."

"Are you kidding? Posypatch?"

"Posy for short. Why not? Dorian told me about the freckle thing and I thought--"

" _The freckle thing?"_ she hissed in Dorian's ear. "It has a _name?_ You refer to it with enough frequency that it requires a _name?"_

"It was _funny,"_ he said defensively.

"It was _embarrassing,"_ she replied.

"Children, please," Varric interrupted wryly. "Now, Posy, you were telling a story?"

Maegwin took a steadying breath, ignoring the use of the new nickname. "Where was I?"

"You were talking about how you wanted to leave after the Circles were disbanded, how you all knew the Conclave might be dangerous," he supplied helpfully.

"Right. So no one wanted to go. The mages with any sense were terrified of the Templars. I would be lying if I said I wasn't frightened, as well, but I was more afraid of not taking action. This was an opportunity for dialogue, which had been impossible before, a chance to try and fix things. I wanted to be a part of that, so I volunteered to go." She rubbed her eyelids with cold fingers, tired of talking, tired of fighting, tired of everything. "And here I am. Still trying to fix things."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, Varric is totally lying when he says a threesome with Cullen and Maegwin wouldn't be something to aspire to. He's just salty about Bianca.


End file.
